It could only happen to me…

Who goes into the garden to bag up an enormous mound of soil and ends up getting covered in honey?


Me. Of course.

How does this stuff even happen? I think I can trace back to the only possible explanation for how this occurred (more on that in a second), but why does this stuff happen to me?

Sometimes I think that I have a superpower for meeting interesting people and getting into conversations and friendships with them. Other times I’m convinced I’m just a magnet for the improbable – in all forms.

On this occasion, having dug up the entire lawn last year to replace it, and having apparently got a bit overenthusiastic with my first bit of digging, I was left with a veritable mountain of soil (intermixed with wayward grass) on what was the patio.

“Get a man in” said a friend. “Get two men in, they’ll clear it all and take it away for you” he said. “But I could just dig it into bags myself, couldn’t I?” I said, entirely miscalculating just how many bags that would actually take.

I began with ten bags – filled them without a problem, but without making much of a dent on the mound. Day two I came back proudly wielding 20 more bags “that should do the trick” I thought. I bet you can guess the rest…

The bit you wouldn’t have guessed – and to be fair,  neither did I – was that during my digging I would strike a lidded bucket. The sharp spade cracking through its brittle plastic in an instant, and then thick golden goo started to pour out.

Striking oil?

“Oil?” I thought, but there is no reason I would have oil in a bucket in the garden, I looked closer.

As someone who grew up with a beekeeper, and the yearly harvesting of honey from the hives turning the kitchen into a sweet-smelling sticky extraction centre, I have a good idea of the look and texture of honey.

“It couldn’t be” I thought, poking my finger in and smelling the substance (still oozing from the broken side of the bucket).. and yet… “what else could it be?”. I poked my tongue out and dabbed a little on the end. Sweetness. Unmistakable sweetness.

But how was there a bucket of honey in the garden? And how had I not discovered this before?

The latter question I cannot answer, but mum was a beekeeper, and for whatever reason, it appears she stored a bucket of honey in the garden. The thing is, she’s been dead for nearing 15 years, could I have really missed this for so long?


I have no idea, but that’s the only explanation I can come up with, and as Sherlock Holmes says “when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”.

In attempting to move said broken bucket I ended up streaked in honey, thus leading me to the initial question, and a pondering about whether totally random stuff happens to me more frequently than the average person. It certainly feels that way sometimes.

Anyway, what is one meant to do with a bucket of garden-aged honey? Asking for a friend…


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